


from the beat of my heart (to the tips of my fingers)

by strifescloud



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Queerplatonic Relationships, asexual aromantic noctis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strifescloud/pseuds/strifescloud
Summary: He can hear the others join them around the fire, taking their usual seats as though it were just another night. It feels normal, feels like them, but even just knowing that they have taken the first steps to being more is enough to fill Noctis with joy, and he finds that he cannot keep the smile from his face.[or, how Noctis learned to talk about his feelings and the boys all got three partners in the process]





	

**Author's Note:**

> well g'day lads i finally finished this damn thing which has been brewing since i finished the game and cried out my 1000 tears so here's my contribution to the polyship road trip
> 
> something abt the boys reminded me of my own qp polyamorous relationship so i thought id write about some nice boys figuring relationship things out. also one of my partner's other partners /strongly/ encouraged me to write something along these lines so here's to you

Noctis cannot sleep.

Streams of moonlight filter in through the half-closed curtains, dimly illuminating the interior of their run-down motel room, so when he reaches resignedly for his phone he winces not from the harsh backlight but from the time that blinks cheerily at him from the screen.

It’s three in the _damn_ morning, and Noctis still cannot sleep, though not for lack of trying. They had been run ragged the whole day, tracking some nuisance of a beast across the harsh landscapes of the more remote regions of Leide, and Noctis had been so very certain that, as usual, he would have fallen asleep the second his head touched the pillows.

He can hear Prompto shuffling about restlessly in his sleep, energetic even at rest, and can just make out the silhouette of Ignis’s sleeping figure across the room. He spends another moment to wish that he could have fallen asleep as easily as they seemed to. He can’t hear Gladio, which was unusual, but his affinity for the outdoors was their main guiding force on the previous day’s hunt and Noctis wouldn’t be surprised if he was simply too deep in sleep to even snore.

 _No point lying here moping about it_ , he thinks wryly, sitting upright with a resigned sigh. The night air is just cool enough to make him grab his jacket as he slides out of bed, and he quietly puts it on before slipping out onto the tiny balcony. He leans on the railing and watches the night sky, the stars beautifully clear this far from Insomnia.

There is about a minute of quiet stillness before Gladio leans on the railing next to him.

“Rough day, huh?” Silence stretches further between them, Noctis’ eyes fixed on the sky above. “Thought you’d be dead asleep by now.”

“I thought you _were_ asleep.”

“Hard to sleep with you tossin’ and turnin’ all night. What’s up?”

Noctis doesn’t turn his head, caught somewhere between unable and unwilling to answer despite the vague reassurances that seek to claw their way out of his throat. To dismiss his sleepless nights as inconsequential would be a lie, and he cannot bring himself to do so under the judging gaze of the stars.

“Hey,” Gladio nudges him with his elbow, bringing him out of his thoughts again, “seriously, what’s eating you?”

He could easily pull away from the touch, play off the concern as unwarranted, but even as he opens his mouth to speak his body stays still, eyes flitting upwards to Gladio’s face.

“Nothing,” he replies immediately, but stumbles over the reflexive answer when Gladio’s stare sharpens almost imperceptibly, “I mean, uh, I don’t-“

“Noct.”

“I don’t know, everything, I guess.” Gladio nods, leaning closer still, the warmth of his arm against Noctis’ a comfort against the cool night air.

“Pretty big difference between nothing and everything,” he prompts, but he turns his gaze away, watching a lone car slowly pass through the quiet outpost. _Giving me a way out_ , Noctis thinks, affection rising in his chest even as he considers taking the opportunity.

“Yeah,” he breathes instead, hands tightening around each other.

He _wants_ to talk, is the thing. Gladio is ever the King’s Shield in more ways than one, and his presence almost makes Noctis feel strong enough to voice his fears, if only he knew how. He opens his mouth, feels himself choke on the words, the weight of his anxieties too heavy for them to escape his chest.

“I don’t- it’s _so much_ ,” he tries, and Gladio’s eyes dart back to his with a flash of understanding.

“You don’t have to talk about it now. Or ever, if you want,” and though Noctis moves again to protest Gladio continues, “but if you do, just let me know. Or Iggy, or Prompto – all three of us are here for _you_ , Noct. Whatever you want.”

Noctis nods mutely as Gladio claps him firmly on the shoulder, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“Get some sleep, okay, Prince? Can’t have you falling asleep in a fight or something – it’s hard work bailing your ass out.”

“Bailing _me_ out?” Noctis replies indignantly, an answering grin forming as Gladio steps away, “Who saved _your_ ass from those Shieldshears yesterday?”

Gladio laughs again as he slips back inside the hotel room, leaving Noctis on the balcony alone, the warmth fading from his arm.

* * *

The thing is, Noctis doesn’t entirely know what he wants.

The thought catches him between naps in the Regalia and he finds himself unable to let it go, turning it over again and again in his mind.

He _wants_ to get to Altissia, to see Luna again, to take his revenge upon Nifleheim for the destruction of Insomnia – of this much, he remains certain.

He thinks of marrying Luna and his mind skitters away from the thought, all too aware of what the reality of marriage means for someone like him. He’s not a stranger to the idea of romance – countless people of all genders had tried their best to catch the eye of the crown prince of Lucis – but he’d never had any interest in reciprocating. Something about it had always seemed _off_ , like inserting himself into the wrong role in a play where everyone but him knew the lines.

 _And yet_ , he thinks, _and yet_ , because his thoughts skip back again and again - to Gladio’s arm against his, presence steady as a rock, to Ignis’s gentle touch as he awakens Noctis in the mornings, to Prompto’s hand pulling him up after a long battle – and though it’s not the same he wonders, always wonders, because his heart knows it feels more than friendship for the three men who have stayed by his side but it does not call them _brother_.

He wonders if there is a word for something that’s neither friendship nor romance, but somewhere undefinably between.

Noctis shifts slightly in his seat, keeping his eyes closed as he feigns sleep. The wind rushing past his ears as the Regalia accelerates drowns out most of the quiet conversation between Ignis and Prompto in the front, but the tone of indulgent amusement in Ignis’s voice is as familiar as breathing and he feels it soothe his turbulent thoughts even as the words remain indistinct.

He shifts again, moving his weight until he leans against Gladio’s shoulder, still pretending to be deep in sleep - part of him curious as to what Gladio will do. He hears the shuffling of paper as Gladio turns another page in his book, the shoulder beneath his cheek shifting, Gladio simply turning his body to make Noctis more comfortable without a word, and Noctis feels another swell of affection rise in his chest.

He feels safe in this moment, in the Regalia with the three men he cares for ( _loves_ , maybe, possibly) most in the world, and he allows himself to go back to sleep.

There is no awkwardness when he is shaken awake, sleep-fogged eyes making out glow of runes that mark a Haven, but the look Ignis gives him is far too knowing and Noctis feels heat rise to his cheeks nevertheless. The feeling fades as they set up camp, settling into a now-familiar routine, but he doesn’t miss the further glances Ignis sends across the campfire, nor Gladio whispering something into his ear as the looks grow lengthier with the darkening of the sky.

It’s not that he thinks they’ll outright say no if he asks him about it.

He still just doesn’t know what _it_ is, and if he tries to explain it he’ll most likely make a fool out of himself, and there’s a persistent voice in the back of his mind that insists that to give them this, one more burden of his to bear, would be selfish.

It is louder at night, with the other three fast asleep beside him in the tent, unable to be drowned out by their voices. While he _knows_ they do not only follow him out of duty, he cannot shake the feeling that to ask them this, as their Prince – to form some kind of _relationship_ that he still cannot define with not just one, but all three of them – would be more than unfair.

He sleeps fitfully that night.

* * *

Noctis wakes to the sound of three familiar voices, the sunlight that streams through the tent just bright enough to make him wince as he opens his eyes. Though his limbs feel weighed down by his lack of restful sleep the smell of Ignis’s cooking is enough to drag him out of the tent, blinking his eyes blearily.

Ignis and Gladio stand over the portable stove, heads bent together as they talk, though both look up as Noctis emerges.

“Good morning, Noct.” Ignis greets with a small smile, turning back to his cooking. Gladio’s stare lingers slightly longer, but he too bends back towards Ignis, picking their conversation back up.

“Oh, Noct!” Prompto looks up from where he’d been taking pictures of the horizon, swinging his camera towards Noctis and snapping a photo before he had time to react.

“Hey!” Noctis scowls, reaching up immediately to try and fix his hair before Prompto had another chance.

“Morning! Oh man, you look like an angry bird, all puffed up like that,” Prompto teases, dancing out of the way as Noctis takes a half-hearted swipe towards the camera. Ignis wanders over from the stove, peering over Prompto’s shoulder at the camera screen.

“Indeed, it’s remarkable how little some things change with time.” Ignis adds, retreating from Noctis’s narrowing stare back towards the stove.

“I do _not_ look like a bird,” he grumbles, dropping himself heavily in one of the camping chairs as he yawns. He stretches his legs out in front of him, nearly tripping Gladio as he takes his own seat.

“I don’t know, between you and Prompto-“ Gladio says, taking a bowl from Ignis’s hand.

“We could drop you at the Chocobo post if you’d like. Birds of a feather do flock together.” Ignis interjects, hiding his smirk by turning back towards the stove.

Noctis hears Prompto protest but tunes out the words, overwhelmed by the feeling that he is being _ridiculous_. He is not a Prince here, surrounded by subjects – merely a man among equals, the closest companions he could ever ask for, and he should be able to tell them _anything_ , right?

Yet uncertainty stays his tongue, the thought of discussing his own turbulent feelings too heavy for the light-heartedness of the morning, and he feels the façade of control he has worn for years slip around his shoulders almost against his will. He holds it close for the rest of the day, uses it to shield him from their concerns like a shroud, slipping into normalcy as though he has never left. He cloaks himself in it each morning after that just as he pulls on his jacket, falling into step with the other three with nothing amiss.

It is easier during the day, when the anxious whispers in his mind can be drowned out by the voices of his companions. At night, when the only sound in the tent is the rhythm of breath in the cold air, his fears come crawling back as if they had never been silenced. He imagines their bitter clamouring to be the cause of the ringing in his ears, though he knows it is merely the effect of silence when his days are filled with vibrant noise and chatter.

He imagines, sometimes, that he can feel the phantom sensation of a crown around his temples.

Noctis, curled in the corner of the tent with his back to the wall, wishes in that instant that he was brave enough to cross the scant inches that divide him and Ignis, to seek the kind of comfort he thinks might quiet his mind enough to sleep. More so, he wishes one of them would suddenly wake, that they would understand what he fears without Noctis having to give it the weight of his voice.

Neither comes to pass. He closes his eyes, listens to them breathe, and does not sleep.

* * *

It is in a muggy motel room in Old Lestallum that something, finally, breaks.

Noctis stretches out on the rickety hotel bed, hearing the springs creak under his weight as he stares blankly at the ceiling, watching the fan slowly rotate. Ignis and Gladio are out buying supplies so the only sound is the faint music from Prompto’s phone, the familiar noises of King’s Knight an oddly soothing backdrop to his whirling thoughts.

“Hey, Noct,” Prompto begins, startling Noctis out of his introspection, “can I talk to you about something?”

Noctis tilts his head slightly, not enough to see Prompto’s face but enough to see his fingers curled so tightly around each other that the flesh is white beneath the pressure. Prompto’s phone lies discarded on the bed, pause screen blinking idly, and the whirring of the fan motor above them abruptly seems too loud in his ears.

“Sure, what’s up?” Noctis tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, but doesn’t move.

“Well I mean, what’s up with you?” Noctis blinks slowly, unresponsive, “This whole thing is…beyond hard for you, I know that, but lately it seems like you’ve got something on your mind – and I know I’m not like, royal advisor or anything like the others, but,” He can hear Prompto take a steadying breath, “if you just wanna talk about it, I can do that. Listen. If you want.”

If the slight quaver in Prompto’s voice wasn’t enough, the _sincerity_ that shines bright as the sun brings a hollow ache to Noctis’s chest – by the Astrals, he loves him, even if he’s not sure how. He opens his mouth to speak, taking a deep breath but releasing it again almost immediately, at a loss as to where to begin.

The springs beneath him creak again as Prompto sits beside him, just out of his vision. He feels a flash of anxiety, keeps it in control only by reminding himself that Prompto came not out of duty, but by choice – here for Noctis, not the Crown.

“Noct.” He says solemnly, and it breaks.

Words spill forth from Noctis’s mouth almost faster than he can process them. He talks first about Insomnia, about his father and Clarus and everyone else they knew whose deaths have yet to sink in. He talks about how sometimes he wakes up and doesn’t remember what happened and it’s like tearing the wound open all over again when he realizes. Prompto remains silent through it all, and Noctis continues.

He talks about Luna, how he’s not sure he even wants to marry her but there’s no turning back now – that he’s never loved anyone the way he’s meant to, and she will likely be no different.

Finally, he talks about the four of them. He says they might be more than friends if they gave it a chance, but not _lovers_ , screwing up his face at the word and hearing Prompto laugh near-silently at the expression. There’s a feeling he cannot describe - he doesn’t know what it is, but it’s both enough and more than he could have asked for, sometimes more than he thinks he deserves.

He tells him how much he worries, sometimes, that they see him as the Crown Prince before Noctis. The shadow cast by the throne looms over him and he feels the fear choking him at night until he can’t breathe, can’t bring himself to ever ask.

He runs out of words. Prompto remains silent for a long moment.

“That’s good,” Prompto says, and Noctis feels his chest seize in confusion and anxiety, mouth dry.

“Good?” He asks cautiously.

“I thought I was the only one who felt that way.”

The statement is so unexpected that Noctis has to turn, twisting around to look Prompto in the eyes. Prompto’s expression is one of unbridled affection as he reaches out, taking Noctis’s hand in his own and squeezing tightly.

“This is okay, right?” He asks quietly, eyes searching Noctis’s face for any sign of discomfort.

“Yeah,” Noctis replies, feeling a smile form as a weight lifts off his shoulders, “more than okay.”

“Good, that’s good, we can uh,” Prompto’s voice quavers again but it’s with an edge of giddiness rather than nerves, so Noctis lets it pass without comment, “we can talk about what we’re okay with, right? So if I do something and you’re uncomfortable with it, just say so and we can figure it out! And I’ll do the same if I’m not cool with something.”

“What does that make us, then?” It’s not a relationship yet, but Noctis’s heart is racing ahead of him, urged onwards by the warmth of Prompto’s hand around his own.

“Partners, I guess. Or if you want to call us something different, or not call it something at all, that’s cool too. New stuff always needs some figuring out.”

“What about partners in crime?”

“You got it!” Prompto’s laugh is infectious, warming Noctis down to his bones, chasing away the shadows creeping at the corners of his mind.

His anxieties come rushing back when Prompto suddenly sobers, looking him in the eye once again.

“Are you gonna talk to Ignis and Gladio?”

Noctis swallows, turning his gaze downwards.

“I know it…it’s big, man. It’s big, and it’s scary and you think it’s gonna ruin everything, and it terrifies me too ‘cause,” Prompto swallows, face remaining solemn, “I guess, if you can’t even be sure, what chance do I have?” Noctis sits up at that, desperate to offer reassurance because he knows these fears Prompto carries, remembers a cold night on a darkened hotel roof.

“But,” Prompto continues before Noctis can interject, “I… I think you should! I mean, eventually, you have to have that conversation, right? And even though it’s terrifying as _shit,_ I can talk to them first if you want. For me as well as you, but you’d have to talk to them yourself afterwards.”

It’s a tempting offer, and Noctis finds himself nodding minutely before he’s even thought it through.

“What do you think?” It’s a loaded question, but Noctis needs to know.

“I think they’re _amazing_ – just like you are.” It catches Noctis off guard, lifting his darkened mood once again as his smile returns to match the one on Prompto’s face. “And the way I see it, I thought I was the only one, right? I bet they both think that as well, and they’re not gonna say anything either unless one of us does first.”

It’s optimistic, Noctis thinks, but he wants to _believe_ so badly that the world could be as perfect as the picture Prompto’s words are painting.

“Give me a few days to think about it, okay?” He says finally, both unwilling and unable to say no but far from brave enough to agree. It still brightens Prompto’s smile, their hands locked around each other, and Noctis feels another piece of his resistance crumble away.

If the other two notice their newfound closeness, it is never mentioned. They spend the next few days out on the road chasing hunts, only managing to collapse into a hotel bed once or twice due to an influx of nocturnal threats. Noctis snatches moments with Prompto where he can, though the larger conversation that looms in their future will take more time than they have between hunts.

Though their days are long and his limbs ache from the exertion, the feeling fades every time he catches Prompto’s hand in his own, sharing a commiserating look as they trek through the harsh landscapes, a swell of true happiness within his chest.

It is incomplete without the others, he knows – his resolve strengthens with every day, and he can see the same feeling reflected in Prompto’s eyes.

Even so, when there is finally a night where they can truly rest, camped out under the stars, he’s not sure he’s ready. He meets Prompto’s gaze while the others are distracted, sees the thread of steel within them as Prompto gives him a nod. He watches the blonde hair as it walks purposefully across the camp but does not follow, choosing instead to slip down the hillside, path illuminated by the setting sun.

He finds a small jetty that juts out from the side of a nearby lake, the water’s peaceful surface broken only by the darting of the fish that swim just beneath. He casts his fishing line out into the water, trying to clear his head, and waits.

It is at least an hour before he hears the sound of branches cracking under boots.

“Hey, Gladio.” He says, still staring out to the lake.

“Hey.” Gladio replies, footsteps coming to a halt.

Noctis lets the silence stretch between them, though he reels in his line, dismissing his rod into a shimmer of blue light. They are building towards something, but it will be up to Gladio to make the final step – if Noctis pushes too hard, it may break.

“Prompto came and talked to us. Said it was for you as well, but I’d rather hear it straight from you.”

Noctis makes a noncommittal noise in response, but when Gladio doesn’t continue he turns, not quite towards him but no longer facing the still water.

“Everything he said was…yeah. I, uh,” he swallows, fingers trembling slightly, “I feel the same way.” He finishes the sentence in a rush, words half mumbled, though Gladio seems to hear them nevertheless.

He can feel Gladio’s eyes resting heavily on him.

“And you were afraid.” Gladio says, tone neutral. Noctis lets out a nervous laugh.

“And I was afraid.” He agrees.

Gladio’s footsteps grow closer, coming to a halt just in front of him. He feels Gladio’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, thumb moving soothingly back and forth on his upper arm and still Noctis doesn’t look up, hand clenching into a fist.

“Everything I say carries the weight of the Crown.” He repeats his father’s old adage dully, as if by rote. “How could I…how could I ask you that, as your prince, and know without doubt that your answer wasn’t influenced by your duty?”

He looks up at last as he releases the tension in his hand, bringing it up to cradle Gladio’s face and tracing his thumb across the scar that travels down his cheek, remembering all too vividly how it was gained.

“You already do so much for me, I don’t-“ He hesitates, unsure of how to continue but not taking his eyes away.

“This isn’t something I’d do for you,” Gladio interrupts, his own hand grasping Noctis’s and taking it away from his face, keeping it still between them, “it’s something I want to share _with_ you. And Ignis, and Prompto – we can make this work. We can.” His conviction is near-tangible, as solid as the shield he wields, and Noctis finds himself stepping closer, his own will strengthened by it.

“Okay,” he whispers, “okay. We can.”

Gladio reaches out and pulls him into an embrace, wrapping warm arms around his shoulders just as Noctis’s wind around his waist, and there they stay for a long, perfect moment.

There’s so much more for them to talk about but he lets himself be led, hand still joined with Gladio’s back through the darkening forest to their camp. Prompto is nowhere to be seen and he feels Gladio push him forward, towards where Ignis sits alone by the fire.

“Iggy and I have already talked. I think it’s your turn.” Gladio murmurs as he backs away, presumably towards the tent. Noctis continues forward, slumping in the chair to Ignis’s right with a slight sigh.

“I presume you’ve sorted things out then.” Ignis says in lieu of a greeting, taking a long sip of his drink, and though his tone is impartial Noctis winces internally. He has known Ignis the longest of all of them. It seems wrong in many ways for him to have this conversation last, and he wonders if Ignis is hurt by his inaction.

“I’m sorry, Ignis, I-“

“Ah, forgive me,” Ignis interrupts, tone still even, “perhaps I phrased that improperly – I had been wondering for a few weeks if you were gathering the courage to speak up, and it seems that you finally have.” He sets his drink to the side, folding his hands in his lap.

“A few- wh- you _knew?_ ”

“Of course I did.” Ignis’s smile is faint but genuine as he looks up at Noctis, eyes sparking with subtle amusement. “Gladio and I have been discussing it for a while now – since before you ever talked to Prompto, I’d wager. I thought, given your propensity for _forgetting_ that our relationship with you takes priority over our duty to the Crown, that it would be best to leave you to figure it out on your own.”

Ignis lays it all out for him, just like that, and Noctis finds himself staring wordlessly in mild disbelief. Ignis’s smile widens, expression inexpressibly fond as he reaches out to cup Noctis’s face.

“You foolish, wonderful man,” Ignis says quietly, “as if I’d say anything except _yes_.”

He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Noctis’s forehead, the gesture so tender that it brings an ache to his chest, and as he pulls backwards Noctis finds himself leaning forward to chase the feeling. He gathers Ignis’s gloved hands up in his own, running his thumb across the back of the knuckles gently as he talks.

“Maybe it’s silly to ask this now, but,” Noctis tries to mask the quaver in his voice, though judging by Ignis’s face he doesn’t completely succeed, “you don’t think I’m being selfish, do you?”

“I don’t think it’s selfish to love others, nor to accept that love in return.” Ignis replies, voice still quiet. “Nor is it selfish for the four of us to be together, in whatever way we are comfortable with, so long as we are _forthcoming_ with each other.” He gives Noctis’s hands a tight squeeze at that, though it is a gesture made in good humour, and Noctis feels the final weight lift from his shoulders.

He can hear the others join them around the fire, taking their usual seats as though it were just another night. It feels normal, feels like _them_ , but even just knowing that they have taken the first steps to being more is enough to fill Noctis with joy, and he finds that he cannot keep the smile from his face.

They fall into the tent that night in a pile of limbs – Prompto somewhere under one of Gladio’s arms with Noctis under the other, Ignis pressed against his back – and though he knows that they will be far too warm in this weather he doesn’t offer a word of protest.

He lies there, listening to them breathe, and thinks _I love them, I love them,_ the thought overwhelming him until he voices it aloud.

He feels a hand find his in the dark (Prompto’s, he thinks), hears Gladio rumble ‘we love you too’ from just above his head, nearly drowning out Ignis’s exasperated ‘go to _sleep_ , Noct’.

It’s perfect.

Noctis closes his eyes and sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 i literally hate writing dialogue so much this was a struggle
> 
> title is from Pink Summer by Summer Camp, which i had on repeat a lot while writing this
> 
> as always i am able to be reached at either strifescloud.tumblr.com or on twitter @strifesodos if y'all wanna chat abt qp polyam roadtrip boys, my favourite topic


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